Incandescent Embers Rise
by ScepticalOne
Summary: The flame is fading. Darkness is coming. A pyromancer journeys from the Undead Asylum. The gods shall fall, thrones will be broken, fire and blood shall be spilled. The fate of the current age rests in the hands of an undead. Fires fade, Darkness descends, Embers rise. (Cookie for whoever gets the title references.)


**Chapter 1: Flame and Blade**

**Swearing, and obscenities ahead.**

* * *

The small flame flickered in the palm of his hand, the occasional breeze that sank into the room causing the fire to dance.

'I had lucked out, of all the classes to wake up as, it was the one that actually had some form of inbuilt entertainment.' The pyromancer thought to himself.

Boredom so far had been his greatest challenge, sitting in that dingy locked cell with only the roaches and rats to keep him company.

The swamp native would quickly come to realize that time moved oddly in this land, far more noticeable in the flesh than through a screen of a tv.

The sun hadn't moved an inch and the sky had remained overcast for what he was sure was a half day.

'My name is Doyle MacFie,' Doyle recited to himself sluggishly through the mist that hung in his mind. 'So this is what it's like to be hollow, to slowly feel your sanity drip away. I hated it.'

He focused on my body for the umpteenth time, taking in the tattered robes of the pyromancer class the only notable deviation from the normal outfit being the bronze ring firmly stuck on his right hand.

He pulled the pyromancy flame into himself, enjoying the warmth as it passed into his right arm, through his chest, and out to his left hand.

He looked to the metal gate that served as my door and thought about trying to melt it, but remembered he couldn't muster up enough heat to do that at all.

For what felt like the millionth time Doyle passed the flame through himself again, and that's when it happened. A corpse of some long mad hollow fell through the hole in the rough of his cell, causing the pyromancer to shout in surprise.

The not yet mad hollow looked up and saw an elite knight stare down at him before moving on.

A faint sense of Deja-vu tickled the back of his mind before memories crashed into his mind in a roaring tide.

Doyle all but jumped on the corpse and ripped it apart searching for the key it possessed, finding it looped on what was once a belt.

He screeched in joy, leading to a coughing fit as his vocal cords protested the extreme activity after so long of negligence.

Before long he had found himself in the courtyard of the asylum and setting at the bonfire, its warmth filling him with a sense of tranquility and peace.

Doyle had to tear himself away from the flame.

He ascended the old crumbling steps and forced open the petrified wooden doors with the screeching sound of rusted metal grinding against itself.

Doyle tried not to look up at the Asylum demon, taking deep breaths as he prepared to bolt to the door on the left side of the room. He knew his only weapon would be no better than his fist's, being little more than a sword hilt with some iron on the end.

With one last inhale he sprinted, making it halfway to the door when the demon crashed to the ground and caused him to stumble.

Doyle managed to roll through the door and down the steps when the demon took a swing at him, the barred door slamming into the ground behind me.

Another rest at the new bonfire to healed the scrapes and bruises from the stairs and he soon found himself moving again. Stale memories where the only thing that guided him as I dodged the blunt arrow shot at me by the hollow at the end of the hall, ducking into a side room and picking up the cracked round shield in the process.

A quick peek around the corner caused the hollow to knock another arrow and let it loose. Doyle rolled out of the room and sprinted forward with his shield raised to block any incoming projectiles.

The hollow let loose one arrow before he got close to it, whatever was left of its mind seemed to retain some sense of self-preservation as it sprinted into the adjacent hallway and up the crumbling stone stairs.

The pyromancer pursued the mad hollow after grabbing the hand ax embedded in a corpses back, blocking another arrow halfway up the stairs. He was a step below the hollow when he took a swing at the hollow, it's arrow firing off into a wall as it was released prematurely.

A few short steps later he passed through the soul fog that had somehow formed in the doorway leading to the second floor of the asylum.

'Isn't there a trap here' Doyle thought as he ascended another set of stairs, looking to his left to peer down into the asylum courtyard. The sound of metal on stone was the only split second warning he got before pain exploded through his body.

The enormous ball of iron crashed into the swamp native, knocking him to the right rather than rolling straight over the man. 'That could've been worse' Doyle managed to think through the throbbing pain flowing through my body.

Looking around he found himself was midway down a lower set of doors, continuing up would lead back to where he started while going down would lead to a gate.

'A locked gate.' he narrowed my eyes as he turned to slowly ascend the stairs, each step causing his battered body to protest in pain.

Doyle stopped at the top of the stairs as he glared at the new hole made by the iron ball, only for my eyes to widen as he remembered a very useful fact.

'Oh yeah, this is where I get Estus.' The pyromancer thought as he shuffled forward at a quicker pace.

"Oh, you…" The knight's voice was weak as it echoed in the damp room, "You're no Hollow, eh?"

"Thank goodness… I'm done for, I'm afraid…" He said, resigned to his fate, "I'll die soon and lose my sanity…"

"I wish to ask something of you…" The knight weakly turned his head to better see the pyromancer, "You and I, were both Undead… Hear me out, will you?"

"Sure," Doyle said in a raspy voice, coughing as he realized how neglected my vocal cords had become.

"Regrettably, I have failed in my mission, but perhaps you can keep the torch lit," He leaned back and rested his head on a brick behind him, "There is an old saying in my family, "Thou who art Undead art chose-" He was cut off by a rush of liquid fire pouring into his helmet and down his throat.

"Now that I know you aren't going to die instantly…" Doyle said as he rummaged through the various pouches on his belt. With a triumphant shout, the pyromancer pulled a key from one of the several pouches.

"Now then, this is going to be a little more difficult," The swamp native took a swig of the liquid fire, revealing the burn as it roared down his throat and soothed his aching muscles.

"Well," The man rubbed his hands together, "Upsidaisy."

"Wha-" The noble knight managed to choke out as the pyromancer began to slowly move the knight down the stairs, much to his muffled protest.

Thunk "Ow."

Thunk "Ow."

Thunk "Ow."

Clink, Clank, Clunk "Ow!"

"...Sorry…" Doyle said as he poured a bit of estus into the crippled knight's mouth.

"Why are you doing this?" The knight asked as Doyle turned to the rusted gate and fumbled with the lock.

"Because you were about to die an idiots death." Doyle said simply, "I wasn't about to let possible help go to waste."

"What makes you think I will help you?" The knight said frustrated, "You haven't really made a good impression yet."

The Iron Gate opened with a screech, Doyle looked to the knight, "Because I've saved your life." The two were silent as Doyle dragged the knight through the doorway and placed him by the bonfire.

"And what purpose is this supposed to serve," The knight asked as he stared up at the sky.

Doyle gave the man a sideways glance, "Have you never used a bonfire before?"

"No." Was the simple response he got?

"Well look into the flame, it should heal you." Doyle turned and looked into the flame, being entranced by its soothing flickering dance.

"I don't see how that's going to-" The knight started to say as he looked into the flame, falling under the same trance as the pyromancer.

At some point, Doyle pulled himself away from the flame and found the knight had pulled himself up into a relaxed sitting position. "You think you can move yet?"

The knight flinched at the sudden sound, swinging his head around in confusion. "When did I sit up?" He asked no one in particular.

"No clue." Doyle said as he pulled himself to his feet, "How rude of me, I haven't introduced myself yet."

The pyromancer offered the knight a hand up, "The names Doyle MacFie."

"Oscar," The knight grasped the hand firmly and accepted Doyle's help up, "Of Astora."

"Since that's out of the way," The pyromancer rubbed his hands together in giddy excitement,

"Wanna help me kill a demon?"

There was a pregnant moment of silence.

"Are you more hollow than I thought?" Oscar asked as Doyle began to fidget slightly.

"Probably," Doyle shrugged, "Two blades are better than one though."

The knight huffed, "Alright I guess."

"Fantastic!" Doyle threw an arm around the knight's armored shoulders, "This will be a piece of cake!"

"Can I have my estus flask back?"

"No…"

* * *

Doyle ended up giving the man back his estus flask back. Luckily there was a hollow soldier who was gracious enough to give his flask up after being stabbed thirty-seven times in the chest with a woodcutter's ax and set on fire.

Doyle had lucked out as well, finding a scroll for the pyromancy fireball on a corpse on the level where the iron ball had rolled from.

"How are we going to face this demon?" Oscar asked as the two stood before the boss fog, the corpses of the slain hollows still twitching around them.

"Easy, We go through this door," He gestured towards the door, "and Kamikaze the demons face with our weapons, after that we stab it to death."

Oscar stared at the pyromancer, his helmet not revealing his face but still managing to convey his disappointment at the lackluster plan.

"I can do this by myself if you're going to sass me like that."

Oscar sighed, "Are you going first or am I?"

"Me," Doyle said with a smirk on his face. The pyromancer turned to the fog, "Wait five seconds and then follow me." Doyle instructed before forcing himself through the fog.

"For the Motherland!" Doyle shouted as he plummeted towards the asylum demon, swinging his ax down with both hands.

'And it's now that I realize I don't have a landing strategy.' Doyle thought as he leaped off the demon, rolling when he landed.

The demon had just turned when Oscar landed on its head, driving his sword deep into its skull.

Oscar crashed to the ground as the demon bellowed in pain, turning back around to swing its hammer at the noble night.

Oscar was barely able to dodge when the demons hammer.

Doyle took the opportunity to charge a fireball in his hand while the demons back was to him.

"Hey ugly!" Doyle threw the fireball at the demons back, earning a grunt of pain from the giant. Oscar managed to recover from his roll and started striking the demon's legs.

Between the two taking turns chopping and burning the demon it quickly fell, souls rushing into both men.

"See, that wasn't so hard." Doyle admonished the knight, earning a grunt from the knight.

"Well fine, if you're going to be grumpy about it," Doyle grumbled as he searched the ground where the demon had stood,

"There's the bitch!" Doyle shouted as he reached down and picked up the overly large iron key. "Hey, do you have a fear of heights?"

"No, Why?" Oscar asked as he watched the pyromancer move to the massive wooden doors.

"No reason." Doyle shrugged as he opened the lock and heaved the doors apart with a screech of rusted metal.

The pyromancer leaped down the few steps and started scavenging around the crumbling walls on the outcropping hill.

"Is this why you asked me if I was afraid of heights?" Oscar asked as the two approached the farthest point of the outcropping, "Because the view is rather breathtaking if not a little drab-"

The knight was cut off by a piercing screech as a truly giant crow seemed to appear before the two, grabbing the men in a claw each.

With a powerful beat of its wings, the crow soared into the air, ignoring its screaming passengers for the long journey ahead.

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**I should stop making new stories, but I won't.**

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